Approaching the lighthouse

For months, I had argued that the inspection could not be postponed, and when the harbourmaster finally offered me a place on the boat, I accepted before asking about the weather. At the quay, the sea appeared flat enough. I was almost embarrassed by the amount of equipment I had packed.

Beyond the breakwater, the boat began dropping heavily between the waves. The lighthouse remained a white mark that seemed to come no nearer. I stopped rehearsing my questions and concentrated on fastening the case beside me, wondering whether my report could have waited another week.

Then the keeper's message crackled over the radio: the previous night's storm had loosened a railing above the lantern room. My unease sharpened, but it was no longer about the boat. By the time the lighthouse steps came into view, I was planning which section to examine first. I did not feel brave; I simply wanted us alongside before the weather changed.

In your own words, explain how the writer's thoughts and feelings change during the journey to the lighthouse.